Well, unlike Rapparee the guy who assaulted me with razors came back a week later to apologize. My eyes are settling down well--I still look like someone got at me, but it heals a bit more every day and I don't have to wear tape on them. So I have taken to going out nights to clubs where they put me on exhibit and make me perform strange primitive rituals involving loud rhythms, vociferous exaltations of few syllables, and a number of sidemen urging me on. Last night was the Navajo Live, and we rocked the house to the max.

Holy FLIP, man! Sounds like a flippin' nightmare, eh? But at least you put up a good flippin' fight and gave 'em all somethin' to remember. It sounds to me like you fought like a flippin' McBride and done yer fambly proud, Rap. Too bad Don and me was not there to help you. We woulda put the flippin' boots to them people that cut you up and then we could of took out the nurses after, eh? Too bad.

I went into the hospital to have two hernias -- one on each side -- repaired (this was probably caused by hard work, so you're safe). After a bunch of paperwork they put me in a bed and stuck a needle in the back of my hand. That didn't work so they stuck in in my arm. Then they gave me some of that Hillbilly Heroin and then put some stuff in the water dripping into the needle to make me sleep. That was okay, but a guy came at me with knife! I took it away from him when two big guys grabbed me and threw me back on the table...I was pretty woozy from the stuff by then or I would have thrown them out the window (I did throw one out). They held me down and put a little mask on me and I passed out. It was then that I was shaved (I didn't know they took a picture!) and they started cutting and hacking away but even unconscious I didn't let 'em near any Important Parts even though did id hear cries of amazement and delight from the ladies present and shouts of jealousy from the men. Anyway, the next thing I knew was waking up and a hospital orderly dressing me and hurrying me out "before the student nurses find you and Have Their Way with you." I did manage to kick the first guy with a knife right in his family jewels, though.

It could be worse. I'd rather wake up after surgery and find some of my bodily hair missing than find hair growing where none was before. Especially if said hair looked like it had been grafted from one of Chongo's relatives.

I'm in constant pain from which I almost pass out. I only keep consciousness by thinking of sunshine and fresh air and flowers and bunnies. My Lower Frontal Regions look like they were worked over with a club There are three holes in my lower tummy and they were not stitched shut but closed with some sort of "skin sealant" (i.e., I'm glued shut). I can shower, for which I have already received thank-you cards from the neighbors. But I am strong, I will survive, I will conquer! Excelsior! Don't Give Up The Ship! The Show Must Go On! Remember the Alamo! Remember the Maine! If I Give Up, The Terrorists Win! The Guard Dies But Never Surrenders! All For One and One For All! Follow Me! Come on you sons-of-bitches, do you want to live forever? Die Gedanken Sind Frei! Workers of the World, Arise! etc. etc. etc.

I've always wanted to see Mollie's Nipple. Well, both, actually. The love of my life looked a lot like Molly Ringwald. I was a grad student and "taught a tutorial class" for a prof that didn't have a clue about finance... imagine a city planner not understanding the value of money over time as it applies to cost-benefit analyses! 80 some students every class because all he did was tell them to "read the book" and assigned assignments... twit! Anyway, she was an undergrad and the very first time she walked into my class... my lust melted. Skip ahead. We were secretly engaged and awaiting her graduation for the formal announcement. Then, a family tragedy struck and I had to go home to take care of it. I was so in love that I forced her hand... announce or break up. She could not as it was a Romeo and Juliet thing... poor Irish/French Cat'lic boy marries the daughter of a mucky-muck Assistant Deputy Minister and head Presbyterian Elder in the capitol city? That's when I started drinking. Fuck I was stupid. BTW... she became president of NB's association of pro engineers... so I actually did teach her more than just lust and love. Or so I would like to think.

I almost deleted all of that text. Fact is, I wish I could delete it from my brain without alcohol... alcohol only works temporarily.

So, more importantly, an update from A on the surgery recovery would be appreciated. Also, how are you doing with your slice and dice, Rap?

A few years back a wildfire broke out on the slopes of Chink Peak (now known, due to a chink of PC, as Chinese Peak) above the Sheriff's Office. No problems, no property destroyed or lives lost. But when it was over the county and state dynamited six abandoned mine shafts about which they had no idea before the fire.

An old Chinese fella used to live up on that mountain, so I'm told, after he'd chink his cabin with moss and mud to keep out the drafts of winter, he grow wonderful vegetables to sell to those below him. He died with a very nice bank account and asked to be buried "on [his] mountain, Chink Peak." Over near Soda Springs are two hills named "Chinese Hat" and "Little Chinese Hat." West of here, near the town of Rockland, is "Mollie's Nipple."

Nah, not if enough people know they need killin'. Now up here you just dump the leftovers in an abandoned mine shaft, which are all over the hills. Or better yet, haul 'em over to Wyoming and dump 'em there. Wyoming will register them to vote and after the election lament the passing of such a fine citizen. Because WY has such a small population it's best to do this just before a census starts.

Sweet Jaysus! It's all about shot placement. Don't ya read the threads at the redneck huntin sites? Ya can kill an elellyphant with a .177 cal if ya can shoot. Mind you, a 12 gauge would be more humane on the whole. I gotta say, though, I am all fer a big ass shotgun fer pisin snakes.

Hi Mom. I shot a cottonmouth in my pond today. I didn't use a lever action .357 magnum. I used a Remington 12 gauge shotgun. Not a good idea to shoot snakes with a rifle unless you're right on top of 'em. I wouldn't want a ricochet to accidentally hit one of my neighbor's cattle. Especially considering that the only rifle I own is an old Spanish carbine (click) that shoots a 9mm pistol round. It probably wouldn't kill a cow, just piss it off.

The only thing I am desperate for right now is a good mixed drink. With that thought in mind, I am goin' out to Duffy's, Amos, and when I get there, me and the boys are gonna drink shooters and make rude jokes at yer expense for hours. I even got a nice photo of you here that I captured offa the Net, and we'll have some fun throwin' darts at it. 2 bucks goes to anyone who puts a dart in the end of yer big nose or the soundhole of yer guitar.

If Chinga ever finds out where that plaid-brained scuff-nosed pretender of a brother of hers is operating from, he's gonna have to move with no forwarding address. If she reads this thread, he's in double jeopardy as she will see how desperate he is. I dunno, it doesn't look good. I mean, she's got money now, and is used to kicking ass and taking names.

The one redeemin' feature you got, Rap, is yer obsession with good quality firearms. It just goes to show, even Nature's ugliest mistakes ain't completely without some good reason for bein' here, that's how I figger it.

If I was THAT piss poor a shot, I certainly wouldn't post a video of it. Then again, I suppose the lad doesn't know he's a piss poor shot. What a waste of ammo. He should spend the money on a good set of eyeglasses.

Yards? Lawns? I have four to tend. Two front and two back. I could link to pics but they more or less look like the background of this text.

Tell Chongo Shitsack that he ruined and pimped my sister and that will be the last time that he does that kind of thing because I'm going to shoot his nuts off a little bit at a time and then feed him alive to the hogs. Love, Red Sven

If you bozos would spend a little more time educatin' yerselves and then applyin' a little practical elbow grease to some kind of meaningful role in yer community...like I do...you'd get a lot farther, see? All this pointless yakkin' about "what is reality?" don't amount to a hill of beans in the world of a Chimp, a bookie, a cop or a twenty-dollar proskirt. I'll tell ya what reality is. Reality is a job, a paycheck when it is done, and goin' out on the town afterwards. It is that simple.

Regardin' "idiot au merde" ....I think I had that dish in New Orleans once. Not too good. I don't recommend it, not even with perogies.

So, reality is a dead chicken. Does that make truth a smoked ham? If it does, can all abstractions be expressed as food items? And vice versa? If I make a list, "love, honor, courage, compassion" and give it to the kid at the country store, will he know to bring me a bag of black beans, a half-gallon of almond milk, a box of granola bars and a fourteen-pound bag of beef flavor Gravy Train dog food?

Dumkopfmitsheisse is a featured dish in some of the rarified kitchens of Pocatello. No-one knows exactly how this local specialty got started but it seems to have begun somewhere out by the golf course there. The French chefs of Idaho are up in arms about the whole thing since they believe the dish is merely a poor copy of their own richly traditional idiot au merde or possibly the more urbane gueule de pete found in finer establishments around the XIV Arondissement.

Reality is a gradient phenomena that follows the general function f(A)=R where A is the degree of agreement between two or more points of view. Those things about which one has the most agreements are very real to him, while the less agreed-on things, such as the existence of Penelope Rutledge, Gluon, or Rapparree, are less real proportionately.

This general function applies to the physical universe, the universe of social agreements, and the universe of one's own created version of reality equally well. Don't youb agree?;>)

I am willing to bet that if Richard III were around today he'd have a few choice words for the mangling his reputation took at Shakespeare's hands. I also bet he'd be a member of the MOAB, a great place for shouting his truth to the masses.

If there's no agreement among spell check software, Wikipedia, and Tom Robbins as to whether a big ugly beet is a "mangelwurzel" (Wikipedia), "mangel-wurzel" (gnu's autocorrect software) , or "mangel wurzel" (Tom Robbins in Jitterbug Perfume), how the hell do you expect there to be any sort of consensus as to what constitutes reality?

"What is truth?" asked Pontius Pilate. If we know truth, would we know what is real and what is not? CAN something be not-real if we can conceive of it? Are thoughts real? Do they define reality, whatever that is? What, then, holds reality in check (if anything)? Since I'm thinking about this have I created a new reality in which wurzel-mangels are the dominant species? And why is wurzel-mangel hypenated? If it is German, wouldn't it be something like wurzelmangelweissedumkoptmitscheisse?

Which brings up the question: what is real? Plato's Cavern? Sartre's conceit? Jung's archetypes? Freud's three-level second attempt to explain psychology? Do we make our own reality? Does Amos exist (for example) if I do not think of him, or do I if he doesn't think of me? Are we the fictons of some Cosmic Author, or is there Free Will? If there is, indeed, a Universe, does each of us create our own and how do the Universes overlap? Does the "Real" of each of us make up the greater fabric of "Reality" or is Reality itself an unreal construct? Or do we run screaming from these questions?

Just because he's imaginary doesn't mean you should be giving him ideas!

I wouldn't classify what goes on in the "minds" of the residents of Little Hawk's Hall of Hallucinations as "ideas". If ideas can be said to add to the field of wisdom, then the ruminations of LH's fictions are more like attempts to plow up little plots of that field and grow mangelwurzels.

Puerility ill becomes a member of the dominant species, Rapp. You'll be giving conceits to that chimp, imaginary or not; there's bound to be some psychic bleedthrough considering that you are operating near the bottom of your species' frequency band while he gallivants near but never quite at the top of his normal operating band. Close enough to transfer over-inflated conceits and some fantasies. Just because he's imaginary doesn't mean you should be giving him ideas!